


Memories of Dying Days

by cuddlydreamsonrainydays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Fix-it!, Lots of people are assholes, M/M, Marauders, Winter, harry's seven, he's so small, kinda between Marauders' Era and Harry's Era, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlydreamsonrainydays/pseuds/cuddlydreamsonrainydays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...coming back to life.</p>
<p>What if everything had turned out just that little bit differently? What if Sirius had escaped from Azkaban not in 1993, but in 1988?<br/>It's dark and cold, but the stars are shining, and thus there's hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

Sirius Black was on the verge of going insane; it seemed like a waste to him, in the part of his mind that told him that he’d lasted already six years, that he couldn’t throw his sanity away now; still, the darkness was invading him. The knowledge that he was innocent didn’t do much good anymore. His bitterness, protecting him in the beginning, had turned against him, making him vulnerable. That was exactly what the Dementors needed in order to spread their cold fear, their soulless desperation. He needed distraction, and he knew it. The latest extraordinary thing had happened so long ago that he didn’t remember it. Screams were everything he heard, black was everything he saw, cold was everything he felt.

The Dementors’ rattling breaths picked up all of a sudden. The light, or rather the lack thereof, was at its darkest – it could’ve been the middle of the night, it could’ve been the anger of the soulless creatures. He didn’t really care. He was cold, so cold. It must be winter – was it already the new year? He was fairly sure that it was 1988, but not entirely – how many winters had he survived at this horrendous place already? He didn’t really care; that was, until he heard a human voice that wasn’t screaming in despair, that wasn’t at a place beyond all reason. There was a human voice talking. Troubled, yes, but still in control of themselves. He had become good at identifying emotions all through his life, growing up where emotions weren’t voiced, and living through a war. It was a female voice, and when the angry hissing from the shadows intensified, it dawned on him that whoever that woman was, she wasn’t here to stay. She was accompanied by strong Patronuses.

She passed in front of his cell, heels clicking hectically on the icy stone floor, and threw him an indifferent glance until she realized that he was staring. Intently. She stopped. Hot anger boiled in Sirius’, the emotion throwing him off his guard entirely, making him urge forward before he understood what was happening to him. It was Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold, who was eyeing him with disgust on her face. From the years of starvation and suffering, his cheeks had sunken in, his skin was hanging loose and covering nothing but bone in all the wrong places. His hair was thin, falling out despite his early age, and he shivered so constantly that he didn’t even realise it anymore. What had once been a handsome young man was now more similar to an Inferius than an actual person. But his horrific appearance didn’t change that his soul was as pure as freshly fallen snow compared to hers. She was the one who’d sent him to Azkaban without a trial, the one who’d made his life a living hell.

“You,” he spat, his voice hoarse like an old man’s. He hadn’t spoken for long months, possibly years. His throat burned from just one word, begging for water. “What are you doing here?”

“I believe that is none of your business, Mr. Black.” Her voice still sounded the same. The arrogance rang in his ears, the nonchalance made him gag, itching to puke food that he hadn’t eaten.

“You often take it upon you to decide what shouldn’t be your business to decide, don’t you?” Sirius laughed. He was well aware that he sounded like a maniac, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt as sane as he hadn’t in a while. Something on her finger caught his attention when he looked her up and down, smirking at her warm cloak and knee-length furry boots because he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do in face of such injustice. “What is that?”

“None of your business, Mr. Black.” She wanted to walk away, taking away from his cell, but Sirius urged forward instinctively again, grabbing her cloak. The clean fabric under his fingers almost made him release her again. Clothes were supposed to feel like that?

“It looks like you’ve been bitten.” His voice was threatening to fade, breaking with almost every word. Every second was precious, every moment she could walk away and he would have to stay, still confined in his personal hell. He sometimes wondered which word was spelled with a c and which with an h of those to that had become the same to him. “By a rat.”

“I will get Arthur Weasley and his family to come here at one point. No sane person would let their son carry a violent rat around that bites the Minister for Magic,” she muttered to herself, but Sirius’ clairaudient dog ears would be able to pick up every whisper. And he would always be able to recognize Peter’s bite, having had it so often itself or treated it on Remus. “You have a good sense of observation, Mr. Black. I assume that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named trained his servants well.”

“Still accusing the innocent, I see,” Sirius countered before he let her walk away. She make a big deal out of dusting off her coat, glaring at him once more, and then leaving without another word. Sirius, though, had heard enough. For the first time since he’d set foot on this island, a sparkle of hope lit up his dull eyes and he allowed himself to think of the future instead of the past.

Remus was still outside there. Sirius had no idea in what condition, and how he was supposed to find him, but Remus was out there, all alone. A werewolf in troubled times. Sirius needed to find him, needed to tell him that he wasn’t alone, that it hadn’t been Sirius who had betrayed Lily and James, that Sirius still loved him. The feeling burned in his chest, painful but bittersweet, and any feeling, as bad as it might be, was refreshing in contrast to the dull, depressing grey.

And, oh. Harry. What was Harry doing? A memory flashed into Sirius’ mind, of the scene at the Potters’ house right after Voldemort’s fall, and theirs, too. He’d come to help, having noticed that something was going utterly wrong with their plan. Had he not chosen to go looking for Peter first… But the past couldn’t be changed, and overthinking wouldn’t get him to anything right now. Hagrid had taken Harry on Dumbledore’s orders, but where had he brought him? Where was Harry? Was his godson alright?

And now he knew where Peter was. He could surrender himself as soon as he’d found the traitor, he could insist on Veritaserum and get a fair trial. He’d be able to clear his name and raise Harry himself, finally.

The Dementors approached, sensing the excitement that filled him. He scrambled together the last traces of force in his body, and waited patiently. The Minister needed to be far enough away before he could act. The screams coming from his right were more violent than before, but he noticed that only briefly. He was so used to screams that he wondered what it would be like without them, should his plan ever succeed. Or would the screaming just continue in this head? He certainly was sane compared to many other inmates, but how sane was he compared to the rest of the world?

As soon as he couldn’t hear the obnoxious clacking anymore, he jumped (well, it was rather a crawling, but in his mind he was still 21) into action, once again attracting the Demetors’ attention, making them come closer, making their whispers grow louder and angrier. But he was determined to be faster than them this time. He didn’t let them enfeeble his will anymore. He’d remember who he was, and who he could be. Padfoot. It was out of question to wait any longer. If he didn’t act now, while his head was somewhat clear, he’d be lost again, and waiting for another visit at the prison to wake him up could take years and years. Until then, he would’ve forgotten about Peter.

So, thin as he’d become, he forced his body through the thick bars that separated his cell from the corridor. The gaps between them weren’t exactly small, considering that the prisoners of Azkaban had to starve. Azkaban’s high security depended entirely on the Demetors – and, of course, on the fact that it was surrounded by water. Miles of swimming through icy sea water, miles of being in danger of drowning if the escape from the Dementors already was successful. Nobody bothered to think about some silly bars, when prisoners were meant to be trapped in their own minds. But Sirius, having fit through the bars almost too easily, his stature skeleton-like, didn’t hesitate a second when the Dementors were creeping up on him rapidly. He unleashed every single bit of force that was left in his feeble bones and transformed.

The evil prison guards stayed back, bewildered, as the large, though bony, black dog emerged through the door to his wing that had been foolishly, oh so foolishly opened for the Minister and not been closed behind her, just like he’d hoped for. The Dementors couldn’t sense him in his animal-shape, but they could sense the human mind soul that they’d been programmed to watch had gone, and they were starting to howl and scream in their unearthly voices that pierced through Padfoot’s sensitive ears. Sirius Black had already escaped. Padfoot, meanwhile, was still finding his way out of the horrific building. When he spotted a hole in the wall, barely visible because outside it was just as dark as inside, the different shade of black almost going unnoticed, he didn’t overthink for a second what he was about to do, and jumped.

The fall was longer than he’d expected it to be, and the crash with the surface of the sea harder, sinking immediately into the icy water. His cell must’ve been high up in the tower, but it didn’t matter that his limbs hurt a bit more now. He’d survived the fall, but he hadn’t yet survived the journey. He fought his way back up to the surface, gasping for air, and started to swim. He had no idea where he was going, and very single movement hurt while his soaked fur stuck to his skin, not protecting him at all from the cold. He shivered, but he continued. He was used to being pushed far beyond his physical boundaries. When he felt like he’d die any moment, he continued to swim. In the complete darkness, waves throwing him over every few seconds, making him have to fight just to stay above the water, not being able to tell up from down, he had to rely completely on Padfoot’s instincts that somehow would make him find land and defy the currents. Did he swim for hours or minutes only? What was time even, when survival only depended on the very next second?

There were pebbles under his raw paws, pebbles that didn’t come as pure relief in the first moment because they cut open his plagued skin. He winced away from them for a moment before he realized that pebbles didn’t just swim around. Pebbles meant land. He’d almost forgotten that land was what he was looking for, turning off his thoughts entirely and just swimming. So he ignored the sharp pain that the pebbles caused him, and ran forward until he’d left the water behind entirely, and then he ran just a little farther in the darkness, until his paws touched dried grass and he collapsed. He gasped for fresh air, trying to get the salt out of his throat, before he managed just to lift his head to see where he had landed.

There was a faint light that was already too bright for his tired eyes, coming from a window only about twenty metres away. There were people. Everything he needed to do now was to find Remus, and Harry, and maybe Dumbledore, to stay alive and get his name cleared. But he’d already escaped.

And it was in that very moment that his surroundings suddenly brightened in a blue-ish, cold light that seemed to come from above. Was that some Muggle thing, were they coming from him? He looked up, panic-stricken, but unable to move, and then he saw it. Wind had moved the clouds and revealed the bright full moon, and some stars around it. The full moon. Remus was suffering in this very moment. He needed to find him.

From somewhere deep in his insides a howl emerged, and he got up like a ghost. He couldn’t feel his paws touching the ground, neither could he feel the wind caressing his cheeks, but he was running. Where? He had no idea. He stayed away from the streets and the villages, running south, just south. He needed to get to London. Something told him that he would find Remus there. He ran as fast as he possibly could, collapsing every now and then, struggling to breath. His dog instincts took over, and his body, despite having nothing to live on, carried him further and further in a direction that he wasn’t able to define.

When the moon started to fade as the sun rose to greet a day that was a lot too beautiful to be true, Sirius didn’t stop to admire what he hadn’t seen in over six years for just a split second. He simply ran, and the only thing he had in mind was a picture of Remus when he’d last seen him. He’d been smiling that beautiful smile, his cheeks still flushed from their kiss barely seconds ago, worry and love mixing in his eyes, tearing at Sirius’ heart. He’d left all the same, leaving Remus alone at their home. He’d been planning on coming back soon. He’d never come back until now.

So everything he could do was to run. Around midday, he found himself in the outskirts of London. The sun no longer dazzled him, bright and cold in the dry winter air. There were Christmas decorations still on, and Sirius wondered what day it was, what year. When he saw a shop that had newspaper’s on display outside, he approached immediately. 5th of January 1988. He hadn’t been wrong about the date, had roughly known it all along, but to see it actually imprinted on a newspaper frightened him immensely. He’d been locked away for more than six years of his life. It was six years later; he’d aged by about thirty years, but he’d kind of expected to come back to the same. To find Remus at their flat, and Harry to be one year old, oblivious to all darkness in the world.

“Filthy dog,” someone snarled. A man that he hadn’t sensed approaching suddenly stood directly in front of him, holding a large wooden stick in his hand. Sirius backed away quickly. He’d seen everything he wanted to see. The newspaper was a useless Muggle thing. Hiding in a dark alley, he took a deep breath and tried to sort himself out as much as possible as a dog, but he didn’t get that far. Something hit his head, and the impact marked the first moment since his escape that he lost consciousness. Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has gone from a distraction from my original fic to my new baby. I hope you like it!


	2. Hide

“Padfoot! Fuck, Padfoot, wake up! They’re coming back soon!” The insistent voice faintly made its way into Sirius’ literally knocked out sleep. Hands were shaking him, shivering hands. His wet fur didn’t protect him from the icy, damp stone floor that he was lying on. The cold started to seep through his body into the conscious part of his mind as he was slowly waking up. His head pounded, even in his dog form, and he groaned in pain from somewhere deep in his throat before he remembered that someone had woken him up, someone who was still crouched next to him, shivering bony hands on his own shoulders that were in no better condition, radiating fear and faint trace of hope. The voice, though strangled and hoarse, sounded strangely familiar. He knew that scent, even covered by strong smells of infection, dirt and despair. He lifted his head, and there he was. Remus.

“Padfoot,” he sighed. “We need to get out of here, quick. They’re coming back soon.” Sirius saw the urgency in his eyes and scrambled onto his feet even though an intense pain shot through his entire body immediately. This was not the time to pose any questions, this was the time to run from wherever they were. Judging by the sickening smell, they were in the underground, not far from one of the rivers of trash and excrements that Muggles created right where they didn’t have to see the mess they were making. While they ran as fast as they could, both limping and haggard creatures, Sirius watched his friend, his former lover, the person that had given him hope, that he’d needed to find so desperately. Seeing Remus confused his emotions, tearing him apart. He was so happy and relieved, warmth spreading in his entire body, giving him strength. Remus was alive, he hadn’t forgotten about him and he’d even somehow found him. But then again, in what condition was Remus alive? He looked like someone who had just escaped Azkaban after years in that abominable place. Sirius loathed seeing the man he loved like this. But he pushed all of that aside and solely concentrated on surviving.

Remus seemed to know every step, every little bit of the way, not hesitating once in front of a split in the corridor where the two options looked absolutely identic to Sirius. It dawned on him that his friend been using these deserted ways underneath the city of probably London for a long time already. After long minutes of running without a break or a glance back, Sirius could smell the fresh air from outside and feel the breeze of air that streamed through the dark corridors. Remus stopped when a circle of light fell through the ceiling, turning around to overlook Sirius. He smiled that unique smile of his with worry in his eyes, and Sirius was struck by how breathtaking he still was regardless of his poor health.

“I’m sorry, Padfoot,” he croaked out, distress colouring his tone black, “we need to climb. Can you do it?”

In the end, Sirius didn’t know how he managed to, but when he stuck his head out of the narrow underground maze, all desperation was forgotten for a moment. They were on top of a hill in a small park. Though there was no green grass in January, only poor brown rests, and the trees were blank with no leaves on them, it was the most beautiful sight he’d had in years. Remus climbed out of the canalisation barely seconds after him, and the precious smile that lit up his grey, sunken face was everything Sirius ever needed in life.

“Let’s take some rest before we go farther away,” Remus suggested, sitting down in the grass despite the piercing cold and his thin clothing. “We’ve got six years and two months of catching up to do. We should be safe now; not forever, but for a few hours at least.”

Sirius bundled his forces and all of his willpower to change back to actually Sirius, not Padfoot. Remus was right there, the gap between them painfully small and physically easy to close. When he sat there as Sirius Black, the man, Remus’ gasp prevented him from reaching out and touching the man. He didn’t need to; Remus reached out, his fingers shaking violently. The light stroke on Sirius’ cheek was barely there, ghosting over the raw skin but so real, so intense nevertheless. Years of solitude had made both of them forget how it felt to touch someone or to get touched by someone with a gentle caress. Remus became braver after the first shock that had struck them both with the force of lightning, caressing Sirius’ cheek again, and again, until both of them were sure that it was actually real, not another fever dream or illusion. Sirius finally reached out, too, tracing the outline of Remus lips and cheekbones with his finger ever so lightly, afraid to touch, afraid to cross a border and break the man in front of him or the bond that still held them together. He buried his hand in Remus hair that was a lot thinner than in his memory, and took in the sight of the familiar face that had changed too much in six years.

Remus was the one who pulled him a little closer, and then a little bit more, until Sirius’ head was buried in the crook of his neck and they were holding each other close, so close that not a single sheet of parchment would have fit in between them, now afraid to let go and lose each other yet again.

“I knew that you were innocent,” Remus murmured. “All those years, I knew that you were innocent, but I couldn’t do anything. I’m so sorry to have failed you, Sirius. So sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sirius croaked out, and wasn’t it ironic that those were the first words that he said to Remus when all he had been during six long years was sorry? “I’m just glad that we’re together now.”

Everything else could wait and would have to wait as the two man sat in the dry grass of a deserted park on the top of a hill in London, watching the sunset behind the grey fog covering the sky, not feeling the freezing cold anymore. There wasn’t anything but the other’s presence that was on their minds, in their hearts, in their blood, just the relief that went deeper than agony and fear. When the sky was black and the sun long gone, Remus shifted.

“We need to go,” he whispered. “When they’re angry, they’re unpredictable. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sirius repeated. He let go of Remus unwillingly to get up. Their hands found their way back together automatically as they made their way through the obscure night, staying far away from anywhere that someone might’ve recognized them. They found shelter in a barn miles from London where they could share with some cows that quickly warmed up to the unfamiliar smells and let them rest peacefully in a corner. It was as warm as they would get, and they were together, so they were fine. They were fine.

“What have you been doing, Moony?” Sirius whispered when they lay in the hay, facing each other, foreheads touching, hands linked. “You don’t look any better than me, if we’re honest, and I’ve been to Azkaban. Last night was full moon, how have you been coping without us? I’m so sorry that I failed you, too.”

“We are running from them,” Remus mumbled, his breath warm on Sirius’ cold face. It had started to snow outside, little snowflakes floating down innocently white but bringing death to those that had no shelter despite their beauty. “I’ve tried to get a job when you were gone, I’ve tried everything, but nobody would take me, nobody. Dumbledore couldn’t – the moment he tried, the Ministry threatened to replace him. They’ve been wanting to do that for ages.” The words had fallen from his lips hesitantly at first, but when as the barriers were once broken, a waterfall of them broke loose, words that had been itching to break free for years.

“So I refused, and, hungry and desperate, I joined a pack of werewolves that lives underground. I pretended to hate the wizarding world, and it was easy because I was angry. I kept out of attacks, but I stole food and I lived in the pack. It kept me safe, even though it was beyond horrible to live with those creatures that have lost all of their humanity and exchanged it for darkness. It’s not like actual human kind has a lot of humanity left, so I saw no better option. I stayed with them for years, always waiting for a sign that you were back or that I could get back to a life that was worth living. They were suspicious when I wandered. I was caged in the underground of London.”

He drew a breath, and Sirius caressed his cheek softly, unable to express the hurricane of feelings that threatened to make him lose his mind. Remus wasn’t done with his story. He was shaking, but his blue eyes were calm like the sea on a summer day without any wind.

“Yesterday, they brought you down. I recognized you at once, your smell, everything. It was the day after full moon and we were all exhausted, so they didn’t suspect anything when I offered to watch you so that they could go look for food. As soon as they were gone, I woke you up. You know the rest of the story. I was never alone at full moon. I was surrounded by supporters of Voldemort, by the evilest creatures I’ve ever known and that I’m ashamed to be part of, but I was as safe as I could possibly be in the shattered world that was left after the war.”

He closed his eyes, and they just lay in silence for a long time, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Sirius was trying to process what he had learned, attentively watching the Remus’ expressionless face that even relaxed like this never let go of its tension anymore and drawing small circles with his thumb on Remus’ bony hand. Remus had drawn back into himself and Sirius’ soft touches, trying to let go of everything that had kept him alive for years.

“How have you been coping yourself?” He finally asked after what felt like forever to them. The cows were fast asleep on the other side of the barn, occasionally grunting, but the most noise apart from them breathing softly came from outside, from the wind that howling around the shaggy old building. “Azkaban hasn’t left you in a better condition.”

“Dementors aren’t exactly as good at cooking at house elves,” Sirius joked half-heartedly. He let out a breathy laugh, turning into a cough halfway through. Remus grabbed his hand harder, but his own fingers weren’t any warmer than Sirius’ were. They were just two broken men, they weren’t angels that could magically vanish all bad that had been done. They didn’t even have wands. All they had was each other, and out of two broken puzzles with missing pieces that could never be whole again, they somehow needed to make one whole picture.

“I was going mad,” he admitted. “I was on the verge of giving up every day again, but I thought of you. I had bitterness and anger to protect me at first, shielding me from the emptiness, but that went away eventually and I became vulnerable to the Dementors. I told myself to hold on, but in the end I didn’t know anymore why I was holding on to that bit of sanity that I still had. That was when I was reminded, when the Minister for Magic decided to pay a visit. Remus – Peter is at the Weasley’s house.” He ignored the sharp breath that Remus drew at this point and the disbelief on his face, continuing his story. “He’s disguised as a pet to their son, Percy or something like that. I was reminded that there was hope to clear my name if I just found him and got a fair trial, and I was reminded of you – and of Harry.”

Remus couldn’t comprehend the amount of information that he’d got; his face mirrored utter confusion. Sirius stroked his hand, and then his cheek when Remus still wouldn’t budge.

“Do you know what happened to Harry, Remus?”

“He was sent to Lily’s sister,” Remus muttered. “She’s the only family that he’s got left. As far as I know, she lives somewhere near London, in Little Whinging, with her husband, and she’s got a son about Harry’s age. He’s protected there, Dumbledore told me. Minerva didn’t seem convinced. The two of them have left him there; Hagrid told me he’d borrowed your motorbike to get Harry there safe.”

“I should’ve taken care of my godson first,” Sirius mumbled. His voice was filled with regret, quivering from suppressed anger at himself, and his free hand had formed a fist that made his knuckles go white. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted Wormtail.”

“It’s not your fault.” Remus tried to comfort his friend, but there wasn’t any regret less, any pain less in his words. Everything could’ve taken a different turn, but there was no way to change the past. They could only make the best of the future, starting from their position at the very bottom. “You shouldn’t punish yourself; you’ve been punished enough.”

Sirius shook his head almost violently. His thin curls flew around, and Remus had to bury his hand in them, letting go of Sirius’ hand, to calm him down.

“I can’t believe all of this,” Sirius muttered. Rage was burning white-hot inside of him, rage and the shame of defeat. “Why is the world so unfair, Moony? Why?”

“I don’t know, Padfoot,” Remus said softly when Sirius had stopped shaking his head, still shivering badly. “But we will get justice at one point. You’ve got to believe in it. Everything will get better. We will go see Harry, we will go talk to Dumbledore and we’ll get your name cleared. The next few weeks or months will still be hard, but we’ll get through it. We’ve already been through so much separated, we will manage together, somehow.”

Sirius stared at him, amazement shining brightly in his eyes. The tension between them shifted, the atmosphere became electric, invisible sparks springing back and forth between them.

“You…” He shook his head, but slowly this time, half a smile on his face that made him look nineteen again. “Remus Lupin, you truly are one of a kind.”

He slowly leaned forward in the hay, not for a second letting go of Remus’ eyes with his own, paralysing him with his stare. The few centimetres that separated them were soon gone, and Sirius was softly pressing his lips against Remus’. They still fit perfectly, as if nothing had changed in six years, their lips a bit more rough, less soft and boyish, but nevertheless made for each other. None of them move; neither did they break the kiss nor deepen it, not even closing their eyes but fixing each other, finding that strong bond again that they’d shared from the first time they’d met each other and that had only grown stronger ever since.

“I love you,” Sirius murmured after long precious moments that he would never ever forget. “Merlin, I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Remus smiled into the kiss, their lips still touching. “You can’t even imagine how much I love you.”

“I think I can.” Sirius broke the kiss apart, pulling Remus closer, once again burying his face in the crook of the blond man’s neck. “Is everything good between us?”

“I don’t know how it works, but I haven’t been better in six years,” Remus laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Sirius repeated once again. “We’ll get through this together.”

“Together.” Remus stroked through Sirius’ hair softly. “Sleep, Padfoot. I won’t ever let you go again.”


	3. Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for you, [Januaryskies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/januaryskies) \- happy birthday!

“I need to see Harry.” Sirius stared down at Remus with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes pleading. His expression that could almost be described as a pout gave him the appearance of a five-year-old, whereas the lines on his face told an entirely different story. He had streaks of hay in his dark, messed up hair, and his dirty old clothes were crinkled and covered in dust from the barn they had slept in. “Please, Moony. I’m serious, and I promise you that I won’t be dead-Sirius because of it.”

“Padfoot, I know.” Remus hadn’t even got up yet; he acknowledged the morbid joke with half a scowl at the standing man. All that he wanted was to make Sirius’ wish come true, and he felt the desperate need to see Harry himself, but it was not the safest option they had. They couldn’t just throw new-found freedom away in the heat of the moment. “If we just went to see Dumbledore first, he’d help us find Harry. In safety.”

“What is safety even? We’re both on the run!” Throwing his arms up in the air hadn’t been his best idea today, but possibly not his worst, either. Sirius pulled them down again, grimacing in pain, but he wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. “Whatever. I’ll go and see whether there’s anything edible around that hasn’t been eaten by a cow already. Three times.” And with that, he stormed off, or rather he limped off, his muscles still aching from everything that had happened and his head pounding softly. The cows that he had to pass by didn’t even look at him anymore, they just continued to chew on their hay and look bored. They probably were, too.

Remus sighed to himself, carefully sitting up. The hay poked into his palms uncomfortably but that was nothing compared to his sore muscles and the itch of his dried-out throat. Going to see Harry in this state was anything but wise. They’d so be doing it.

Sirius came back around ten minutes later, when Remus had just managed to somewhat calm his worries down. He carried a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk, alongside with some smoked ham. Questions immediately bubbled up in Remus, but Sirius cut him off quickly. He produced a linen bag from behind his back as well.

“They had loads of food where I went. They won’t even notice this missing. The bread and the sausages might get us through to Little Whinging.” He broke a piece off the loaf and handed it to Remus along with some ham, taking the same for himself and storing the rest of it in the bag. They ate in silence for a moment, chewing as carefully as they were moving.

“About that, Pads,” Remus began when he’d eaten more than half of his food and was getting full, his stomach not used to decent amounts of nutrition. “You do realize that we have no money, no wands and no clue where to find Little Whinging already, let alone the exact place that Harry is in? I don’t want to say… I just want, in fact, to stay realistic. We won’t get there, find him immediately, take him with us without any problems and live a happy life from then on. You are a searched criminal, your name has yet to be cleared – please, don’t interrupt me – and a child needs a home, someone who can actually care for him. You know that we can’t right now. And even if we see him, he might even know that we exist. Who knows whether he was told about his parents’ friends? The official point is that you betrayed them, them and him. They won’t rub that into his face, he’s six. Just think about it realistically. You will see him, but you won’t be able to do anything. If you’re okay with that – I’ll support you and come with you. But you need to promise me that you don’t let some ideal imagination take over in your head.”

“Remus Lupin,” Sirius said. He’d put down his food at some point during Remus’ speech, just observing the man that he still loved so much gesticulating wildly, working himself up, and now he couldn’t help a smile spreading on his face. “How often can I say that this is why I love you until you start scolding me for not being realistic anymore? I swear, I know the consequences. I just… I just need to see the little Prongs. And then we’ll go see Dumbledore. We won’t do anything unreasonable, I promise. I’m not trying to go back to Azkaban. And I couldn’t even… I guess I’m not even able to be blinded by positive views. I really try to be strong, Moony, but every second, I’m afraid to fall back down into nothing.”

Their lips touched all of sudden; it wasn’t clear who had initiated the kiss, but it was perfect in its awkwardness and made everything clear between them that couldn’t be told with words. Desperation, hope and sincerity, and when they became too overwhelmed, they broke apart, panting.

“Okay,” Remus breathed. “Merlin, okay.”

“I love you,” Sirius repeated. “And when have we ever followed the easiest path?”

Remus just shook his head, and bit into his bread again. The journey they had shouldn’t be that far. If his sense of orientation was right, they’d already been heading south the day, or rather night before. Surrey wasn’t that far from London, either. The distance should be doable. More doable than Hogwarts anyway; if they could just take the Knight Bus, or contact anyone in any way…

“You’re lucky that I know how to read maps.”

“Have I told you that I love you today already?”

They left the barn and the peacefully chewing cows behind, ducking their heads low while limping away from the grounds that belonged to the farm, and started to make their way further south, just further south, while the cold winter air kept poking needles into every bit of skin that wasn’t covered by the thin layers of clothes. They passed through empty, dried-out fields, staying away from villages and streets and generally everything where they could be spotted, their only indicator of direction being the pale January sun that barely managed to break through the fog that damped the air and made the thin clothes cling to their skin uncomfortably. They had known worse, though; giving up wasn’t mentioned in the few words that they exchanged, both too focused on their breathing and careful steps to actually chat. The ground was deeply frozen and the earth hard as stone, but uneven and trippy.

They stopped every now and then when there was a possibility to hide in the middle of a small group of trees or somewhere where the ground was lowering a little, to reorient themselves and see where they were going next. Sitting down, though, they didn’t dare – never in their lives had they felt as vulnerable as now, wandless, weak, defenceless. But they never stopped walking for longer than ten minutes despite being tired as hell.

When the sun was already starting to set again, around four pm, and their stomach were growling, all their food being gone, Remus suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Sirius, not even noticing for a moment, too caught up in being torn between agony and excitement, promptly ran into him. He wasn’t strong enough to knock both of them to the ground, but the impact startled them, made Remus squeal.

“What’s up, Moony?” Sirius’ voice was low and raspy, his throat dried out from the cold winter’s air. They hadn’t spoken in about two hours. Remus was squinting at the horizon; now that Sirius looked very closely, he, too, spotted something there that wasn’t just trees and fields. But they’d passed by a lot of small towns and villages, so why would this one be any different? Sure, Remus would know. He’d been reading maps when they dared to stop at a bus stop far away from the next town, occasionally changing direction slightly, growing more and more satisfied. Remus would know his ways around here, of course. Sirius remembered faintly that once in third year, Remus had told them about travelling around in a caravan with his grandparents as a child. That must’ve been the year that is grandfather had died.

“You see that, Padfoot?” Remus’ voice wasn’t any better than Sirius’, if only it was worse because Sirius’ voice was naturally deeper than his. “If I’m right, that must be Little Whinging.”

If Sirius hadn’t been so feeble that it cost him all of his strength to walk and stay upright, he would’ve done a backflip right and there. Instead, he simply smiled. His heart grew warm, stopping his shivering for a moment and making him forget about the piercing cold.

“You’re my angel, Remus.”

“I’m doing my very best.”

Subconsciously, Sirius reached for Remus hand. They had not been holding hands while walking, to busy each focusing, too lost in their own thoughts each and too far gone from reality, but the situation was getting real and the Animagus needed support, even when the hand holding his was just as cold. They shivered with the same rhythm and walked alike until they had reached the borders of Little Whinging, the place where Harry lived.

Little Whinging was not a village. It was town of a fairly normal size – big enough to host good and not that good neighbourhoods, to have multiple playgrounds and apparently also schools. The couple just wandered around for a while, kind of hoping for the impossible, for that spark of fate to reappear, the one that had already brought them together in life twice. It was six pm when they started to give up for the day, settling on lonely swings in the darkest corner of a dark, deserted playground somewhere in town in a neat neighbourhood that couldn’t have been any more appalling to the two of them. But neat and as Muggle-ish as possible also indicated the highest grade of safety possible, from Dementors as well as from pureblood wizards or werewolves.

Remus had his knees pulled up to his chest on the narrow swing, the icy wind making him move forwards and backwards oh so lightly. His feet were tangled with the chains that held the swing, and his right arm as well – with his left hand, he was holding on to Sirius as tightly as just possible with frozen fingers. Sirius’ feet were on the ground, his long legs spread out in front of him, his tall, lanky figure too big for the children’s swing in a ridiculous way, his back hunched up, his shoulders pulled high. The sight of them was dire, but the dark protected them from being seen. They didn’t talk, looking at the artificially bright streetlights with empty eyes that soaked up the light but didn’t radiate it, when a person walked through the cone of light that was the closest to their refuge. That wouldn’t have been a reason to get alert; it wasn’t late, there were cars passing by and lights on in houses and occasionally even people hurrying home from the bus stop, having just gotten off work.

But this person was small, just a child. It looked like a boy from afar, skinny and narrow everywhere. He didn’t wear a hat, and kept his head down, eyes focused on the ground, while walking slowly, too slowly for the cold that was everywhere and had to percolate his coat, as well. Remus slowly untangled his limps and stood up from the swing, Sirius following. The first steps hurt, their cold feet prickling and itching at the pressure and the weight that was put on them, but the boy walked as slowly as they did, and when their toes had come back to life from almost freezing off, they had reached him in no time.

Carefully staying behind, Sirius examined the boy from afar, even though something was urging him to go forward, go faster, grab and hug that little boy and tell him that everything would be okay. He had short hair, black and untidy like James’ had always been. He was wearing glasses, too, like James always had. When he turned around under a streetlight, having heard their footsteps in the otherwise deserted, dark street, it became clear that his glasses were sellotaped in the middle to not fall apart, and Sirius was sure for a moment, one hundred percent sure, that he had exactly Lily’s eyes. But already without that, the evidence that standing in front of them was really a miniature Prongs of six years age was undeniable. They didn’t only have the same hair, but the same overall features. Harry’s features were already sharp at seven years old – only after noticing that, Remus noticed that the boy’s clothes were at least four sizes too big on him. Sirius bit his lip so hard that the metal taste of blood spread in his mouth. He’d felt the urge to vomit before already, but if that hadn’t been the case, he would’ve felt sick now.

The boy standing in front of them for that small, precious moment was Harry, son of James and Lily Potter, the boy who lived – and he was staring at them without a hint of recognition, or just doubt in his eyes. He didn’t look scared, either, just indifferent, turning around again after that fraction of a second, continuing to walk.

When they could be sure that he wouldn’t hear them anymore, or turn around again, Sirius broke into heart-wrenching sobs, sinking right down to the pavement, holding onto his own ribcage so hard that it hurt. Remus pulled him back up from the dangerous, cold ground, feeling his heart being torn apart right in his chest himself. That boy had been Harry, they’d found him – but in what condition?

“We need to follow him,” Sirius choked out hoarsely between sobs of pure agony. “We need to see who’s doing that to him! Have you seen his empty eyes?”

“His eyes are almost as bad as yours or mine.” Remus spoke quietly, bearing almost Sirius’ entire weight, which wasn’t much but there wasn’t much left to Remus’ muscles, either. He gently led them forward, not wanting to let Harry out of sight, and Sirius followed without any objections.

Where Harry was going wasn’t far away, but they needed to be more careful now, as he’d already seen them; then again, he wasn’t paranoid like they were, being six years old, he wasn’t terribly bothered by two shabby men following him in the dark streets, judging by his look. They were in the most boring street that Sirius had ever seen, and he’d seen a lot, when Harry stopped, carefully checked for cars from both sides, and crossed the street as there were none. The lawns in this street, _Privet Drive_ the sign read, were perfectly trimmed, the houses white, those weird things that Muggles used to get from one place to another, cars, polished so that they shone just from the dim street lights. Harry walked up to one of those pompous cars, beside one of the absurdly flawless lawns, up to a bland house that they’d never, never ever find again if it weren’t for the number four next to the door that made it different from number six on the right. The two of them crouched down behind a well-trimmed dark hedge, and watched.

Harry pulled some keys out of the pocket of his baggy jeans. Those were rolled up at his ankles, being too long for him. His coat almost reached his knees, and it wasn’t one of those that were meant to. He fumbled with the keys, but he didn’t get to open the door; it was opened in front of him, and behind it stood a man whose brows were furrowed in anger. Sirius couldn’t help picturing a pig in his tasteless, brown clothing with the awful tie, and concluded that a really pig would probably look even better than this neckless man. He wasn’t big anymore, he was just straight-out fat – and not that being fat was equal to being a disagreeable and unappealing, the expression on his face was. When he raised his hand with stumpy, sausage-like fingers on it, stroke out and slapped that little boy, that innocent child of him, right across the face, it dawned on the two wizards in hiding under what conditions Harry had to live. Sirius audibly gasped and quickly pressed his hand to his mouth, avoiding further noises at all cost. Remus just shook his head slowly, unbelievingly. Who were those people that Dumbledore had left Harry with?

“You’re late,” the man grunted. “Cupboard at once, no dinner. Don’t you dare disobey the house rules again! Remember that you should be thankful that we let a pathetic orphan child whose parents managed to kill themselves in a car stay with us.”

He forced Harry inside, grabbing his tiny shoulder and jerking him into the hallway, before angrily slamming the door shut. Fortunately the two wizards were out of sight and no longer to be heard now behind the hedge, because Sirius couldn’t stop himself from gasping loudly and jumping to his feet, wincing at the immediate pain. Remus shut his eyes for a moment and pinched at his temples, trying to get rid of the headache that what they’d just seen had provoked.

Their best friend’s son, the one that they’d promise to take good care of if ever something happened to him and Lily (and of course they’d talked about it, because one talked about dying during war), was abused by the family he lived with. They were surely Petunia, Lily’s sister, and the human pig in a suit that had just slapped Harry with full force had to be her husband. They hadn’t come to check on him sooner, had failed to realize what was happening to him, and failed to get him out of there. Stifled sobs escaped Sirius’ mouth, though his hands were still clamped over it. He felt the need to cry out loud and to run into that house at once, just taking Harry with them, but he knew that it wasn’t possible, he knew. So he resisted the urge and bit his lip instead, hard, until the wounds from earlier broke open and started to bleed again. He recognized all this, the abuse, the punishments, the physical and the emotional part.

 _You should be thankful_ wasn’t a new phrase to him, not at all; make those hits hexes, and Harry was growing up just like his godfather had. Sirius couldn’t stand knowing what pain Harry was going through, couldn’t stand that the child had to suffer from the same that he’d suffered from.

“Merlin,” Remus breathed. His body was shaking, from cold and frightened anger in equal parts now. “We need to talk to Dumbledore.”

Sirius held on to Remus for dear life now, clinging to his emaciated body, sobbing quietly, unable to say anything. They stood in the street in silence for a while, no longer feeling the cold, just holding on to each other. There was so much to fix; starting by themselves, and already that was an impossible task. Both of them knew that luck had been with them until this point; finding each other and finding Harry could’ve taken weeks or months instead of just days. But Hogwarts was far away; they weren’t able to apparate, and taking the knight bus just was not an option; they could impossibly walk to Hogwarts, it being far up in the north of England. They couldn’t even seek shelter; already would it be difficult enough to find a hospice that would accept two shabby men with more holes than fabric to their clothes, and then they weren’t able to pay. Someone was bound to recognize Sirius at some point; Remus was fairly certain that his escape would be all over Muggle news as well. Where could they get food and shelter from, and how could they contact Albus Dumbledore? Any contact that they’d had was either dead or believed that Sirius had killed the Potters, and Remus as a werewolf wasn’t welcome anywhere in the wizarding world of nowadays if his cover blew. There would be questions if he just reappeared after years of absence now. And then, they also had to catch Pettigrew.

The world around them seemed dark; not just because it was dark and the sun had set hours ago. No, the darkness was not to be fixed by the rising sun in a few hours. Marauders didn’t give up, but damn – at this very moment in this very street they were just an inch from surrendering.


	4. Scream

A throaty gasp from the opposite side of the street. A heavy thump on the pavement. They spun around immediately, stepping closer to each other out of instinct, only to be faced with an old woman. Her handbag was lying beside her, the contents spilled, while she was covering her mouth with her hand.

“Black,” she croaked out hoarsely. Her eyes flickered from one side to the other, hectically. Sirius could smell her fear, and he understood her well. “Get away from the boy!”

He did understand her, but the implied accusation nevertheless hurt like a knife stabbing him right into the heart, over and over again, tearing him apart. They thought he was a Death Eater. Of course they would think he was after Harry, too. His hand found Remus’, shaking.

“Ma’am,” Remus said softly, taking a hesitant step forward. He never let go of Sirius’ hand. “Ma’am, this is not what you think it is.”

What a cliché, Sirius thought, suddenly feeling the insane urge to laugh out loud, laugh the pain away. As if they were still this innocent. As if they’d still get caught fooling around in the dormitory, kissing in deserted corridors, secretly holding hands under the dinner table. As if they were, or had ever been for that, sheltered children fooling around, mostly afraid of being walked in on by their own mums. They were long past that kind of innocence, but apparently, that phrase always stayed the same, whatever the consequences.

“Remus Lupin,” she said, surprise in her eyes. Sirius shut his own for a moment, forcing them close until he saw stars. “I always thought you were one of the good.”

“I am,” Remus assured her, lifting his free hand up to show her it was empty, as empty as that gesture. As if they really could do her, or anyone for that matter, any harm in the condition they were both in. As if he couldn’t be hiding his wand anywhere in his ragged clothes or the stolen bag. “Ma’am, please, who are you? How do you know us?”

“My name is Arabella Figg,” she said, her chin lifted up high now, her voice now somewhat firm. “I am a squib and I was ordered by Albus Dumbledore to keep an eye on Harry Potter. _Which is exactly what I’m doing, so get away here now! I will contact him immediately.”_ Her confident façade fell. She was working herself up again now, frantically picking up her old handbag, fumbling for something with shaking, doddery fingers. White-hot anger boiled up in Sirius at her words.

“Ma’am,” Remus insisted, “we need to talk to Dumbledore as well. There is a lot of explaining that needs to be done. Please, I assure you that we won’t harm anyone. Could you contact Albus Dumbledore for us?”

Arabella Figg narrowed her eyes at them, obviously not convinced. But they were even; she was as defenceless as they were. Remus and Sirius could’ve possibly attempted some wandless magic if they weren’t this weak, but that would be of no use to them and take all of their power away.

“Stay here,” she ordered. “Don’t move an inch. Don’t even think about attacking the Potter boy. I will come back with Dumbledore.”

She didn’t even wait for them to agree, scurrying away. The knot that had held her white hair out of her face had loosened and her coat was threatening to fall off, but she didn’t pay any attention to that as she vanished around the next corner. Sirius sank down on the side of the pavement, unable to figure out whether he was furious or just desperate.

“Did you hear what she _said?_ ” He turned to Remus, his brows furrowed. He was rubbing his temples furiously, trying to process contain his anger. His entire body was shaking again, but now for a very different reason. His arms flew around uncontrollably while he talked, his fury taking over him. “She was supposed to protect him, and she let this happen?”

“She’s old,” Remus muttered, although was not very convinced himself, staring at the lit windows of the house behind them. If those people inside were to throw a look outside, what would they think? “She probably doesn’t realize just how bad it is. Just look at their lawn; they won’t let anyone know that they’re mistreating a child, for Merlin’s sake!”

“It took us five minutes.” Sirius stared at the dark street at his feet. His stomach grumbled, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. There were things far more important than a hunger he’d lived with for years. Remus didn’t answered, but he silently agreed. How could Dumbledore have been so careless? Not only was he the Boy Who Lived, but he was also James’ and Lily’s child, an orphan, a boy that needed and deserved a loving and caring home and that countless wizarding families that had been friends of Lily and James Potter would’ve willingly accepted as their one child.

They waited in silence, then; words wouldn’t bring them any good, because both men were angry, tired and emotionally as well as physically on edge. In a situation where everyone was against them already, what they needed least was to get angry at each other as well.

In the Dursley’s house meanwhile, every light was lit with those electric lights (didn’t those muggles care about the environment?) and sometimes, a shadow flickered past. They never stayed though. They didn’t suspect anyone to sit outside, waiting, observing, while they did whatever they did in the evening. A television was on, but Remus couldn’t see more through the window without being seen himself. They wouldn’t see Harry anyways. Cupboards didn’t have windows.

Sirius kept clenching and unclenching his hands to fists until the small wounds on his knuckles that had been caused by the cold and rough air sprung open again. He didn’t care about the drops of blood, didn’t even notice them dropping on his clothes that couldn’t get any worse anyways. He was getting cold as well but he didn’t dare pacing in fear of alarming the family in the house. What if Dumbledore didn’t believe them? What if everyone would hate him forever? What if he had to go back to Azkaban?

But no; they wouldn’t do that.

They couldn’t.

Or could they?

He would’ve bitten his nails, but there was almost none of them left. Just when he opened his mouth to say something, anything to relieve the tension that lay in the icy air, they heard footsteps. Rushed, long steps, not those hesitant little ones that Mrs. Figg took. The steps approached quickly. Sirius jumped up immediately, reaching out for Remus’ hand, and squeezing it tightly. Albus Dumbledore rushed around the corner not a second after.

 None of them had ever seen him like this before. His coat was open, fluttering behind him, his white hair flying behind him, his glasses a bit out of place, his expression unreadable. Everything but calm. In an instant, Dumbledore’s face when he’d last seen him seven years flashed in front of Sirius’ eyes, the look of disbelief and utter disappointment that still haunted him sometimes. He could see disappointment in the older man’s face now as well, and disbelief, but it wasn’t at all the same expression. He stroke towards them, pulling his Deluminator out of his pocket, clicking of the lights, and came to a stop only steps in front of the pair that had not yet dared to move. He cleared his throat.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Sirius said, his voice suddenly as small as it hadn’t even been when he’d been eleven and insecure. “I would’ve never betrayed my best friend. I would’ve died for James and Lily, and I was ready to.”

He hadn’t meant to be that fast forward, but now that it was already out, everything he felt was relief. And if they’d put him back into Azkaban. And if nobody’d believe him. At least he’d told Dumbledore now. The man’s features softened as soon as the words had been spoken, and he’d seen the linked hands of the men in front of him that he knew as boys.

“This is not the right place to talk about this,” Dumbledore answered. His voice wasn’t angry. “But I promise that we will talk, and that I will listen to your story.”

“I do think it is the right place to talk,” Remus said instead of a desperate Sirius, who couldn’t get any words out and had only squeezed Remus’ hand to make him understand that he needed help. “We need to talk about Harry. Professor Dumbledore, do you even know how those people treat him? I would call it abuse, rather than treatment. You as a teacher should be able to read the signs, shouldn’t you?”

“He’s in safety,” Dumbledore simply said, turning to Mrs. Figg who had meanwhile caught up to them, slightly out of breath. Her hair was still untidy. “This is the only family he’s got left. Arabella here has been watching over him.”

“Well,” Sirius gritted. He really didn’t want to get aggressive, didn’t want to destroy what possibly was the only chance that he’d get to convince Dumbledore that he’d never done anything bad. “If that is what you call watching, and if only the same blood means family to you, then you’re probably right. But I think that watching does include alarming someone when the boy is starving and in clothes four sizes too big on him, and I also think that family is everyone who truly, and unconditionally loves you. That’s what I think.”

He was panting after his speech. The street was silent. Dead silent.

“We will talk about this at Hogwarts.”

And without another comment, Dumbledore took the lead back to Arabella Figg’s house, which turned out to be connected to the floo network. Sirius walked behind him, boiling, and as so often these days he didn’t know if the situation was already absurd enough to laugh. Then again, the last time that a situation had been so horrible and horrifying that he’d laughed, he’d been sent to Azkaban. Maybe he was insane, after all, and had been at the right place in Azkaban. But Remus was by his side, supporting him silently and protecting him from the dark that was pulling him

They didn’t say goodbye to the old woman, as they hadn’t greeted her either. Sirius was afraid to open his mouth.

“Please sit down,” Dumbledore invited. He conjured up two luxury chairs out of nowhere in a swift movement. Hesitantly, they both sat down on the soft red cushions, looking around. In all those years that they hadn’t been to the Headmaster’s office, nothing had changed, and the familiarity was as comforting as it was painful. The last time that they’d sat in this place, it had been with James. At that time, at least there little universe had still been intact, even though the world around them was going to hell. At least it was warm in here, a small fire lit in the fireplace behind the desk, their limbs starting to defrost. “I’d like to hear your story.”

Sirius kept his mouth shut. He’d said enough already, probably done enough damage already. Remus was better at keeping cool while talking.

“Sirius wasn’t the one who betrayed Lily and James,” he said. “I don’t know how I ever believed it; it didn’t make sense right from the beginning. It wasn’t Sirius. It was Peter.”

Sirius briefly closed his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the pictures away; if anything, they became more prominent when he didn’t see anything beside them. He saw their corpses again, and he felt the realization that the fidelis charm had been broken.

“It was my fault, technically,” he said, his voice raspy from upcoming tears. He kept his eyes shut. “I told them to make Pettigrew, that absolute shame of a Marauder, their secret keeper. I thought it would be less obvious. I should’ve suspected that something was wrong the moment that he agreed without hesitation. The coward wouldn’t have risked his life. I would’ve, but I thought that my life wouldn’t be enough to protect them. I told him. It is my fault that they died, but I didn’t mean to! I saw their corpses and I knew that it was Wormtail. Everything I could think about was revenge, so I took off to find him. I admit that I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t even manage to do that. He’s alive, he’s fucking alive and out there, the scum that has betrayed the only ones who ever treated him as their friend!”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said. His voice was firm, but warm. “I believe you. Now, Remus, go on.”

“Well,” Remus said, throwing half a pained smile at Sirius. “Everyone thought Sirius Black had gone mad. It was logic. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, at some point, I just broke. We were apart for six years. I lived with a pack of werewolves in the London underground, and some days – was it three? – ago, they brought Sirius down to the place where we were staying. When they left to hunt the next time, I opted to watch over him, and we could escape.”

“Sirius, what exactly happened when you had cornered Peter Pettigrew? How could he escape? And why did the werewolves take, but not bite you?”

“I had the asshole standing in the middle of the street,” Sirius muttered in a monotone voice. “There was no way for him to escape without causing a scene, so he caused the biggest scene he could’ve. He blew up the street behind him, cut of his own finger, and did something that nobody could’ve suspected because nobody knew. Nobody knows until now.”

He took a break to breathe. And what if they now found a way to send him back to Azkaban for this?

“He turned into a rat. His Animagus form.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows behind his half-moon glasses, more than mildly surprised. The tension in the room increased exponentially.

“The werewolves took him because he was suspicious to them,” Remus added. “They won’t tolerate a big, black dog, as broken-down as he might be, in what they claim to be their territory. They couldn’t infect him because he was an animal.”

“We became Animagi in fifth year,” Sirius admitted. He didn’t dare looking the Headmaster in the piercing blue eyes. “We didn’t do it for fun, or because we thought it’d be the ultimate prank; we knew that if anyone ever found out, becoming unregistered Animagi wasn’t something that would only get us detention. We did it for Remus, to be with him at full moon, to make those nights less painful for him. James became a stag. I become a dog. And Pettigrew, that traitor, becomes a rat. And that is why I broke out of Azkaban. He is here, Professor. He lives with the Weasley’s – disguised as their sons pet rat.”

The room fell silent, so silent that even the soft hums of the magical instrument lined up behind Dumbledore were clearly audible. Sirius held his breath. Nobody moved, until Dumbledore finally, after what might’ve been a century, nodded slowly.

“I see,” he mumbled. “This is all starting to make sense. And Percy Weasley, first year in Gryffindor, has got a rat, but how do you know that it is Peter Pettigrew?”

Sirius explained it to him now without really paying attention to his words, told him about the Minister and recognizing the bite, while his entire focus was on not jumping up and running through the familiar corridors right to the Gryffindor common room. Right to murder that rat that was closer now than he’d thought he’d ever get.

When he was done, Dumbledore stood up.

“The students will probably be in the common room. You two stay here; we don’t want to cause any panic. I will go and get that rat.”

He’d barely finished his sentence when there was a harsh knock on the door, and, a second later, Minerva McGonagall entered the office. She was already about to say something, mouth opened, when she spotted the two men in front of Dumbledore and stopped dead, mouth agape.

“What by Merlin is going on?”

“Evening, Minerva,” Dumbledore greeted, long back to his calm self. “These two can tell their story themselves. I’ve got to go and get someone.” He wanted to leave, but Sirius called after him.

“Wait! We haven’t talked about Harry!”

“We can’t do anything until your name is cleared,” Dumbledore reminded him over his shoulder and left, the door falling shut behind him with a soft thumb. Professor McGonagall put her hands on her hips, glaring at the men she’d once known amongst her brightest students. Her mouth twisted with grimness.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin. Care to explain?”

And so they started their story again. Now in the warmth, they were getting tired. Out of the immediate danger of actually freezing, thirst and hunger came back. But nevertheless, they told her everything. While Professor McGonagall had kept her arms crossed in front of her chest and her thin eyebrows risen at the beginning, it was obvious that they were convincing her. At the end, she believed them – and then, they told her a bit more. About what they had discovered finding Harry.

“I knew that they weren’t the right family for him!” Anger was in the woman’s always vigilant eyes behind her glasses. Her fingers tapped impatiently on her wand. “I watched them before Albus brought him there, the least magic people anyone could ever find. I knew they weren’t the right family for Harry Potter to grow up in! I swear by Merlin, we will get him out of there. And if I need to raise him personally!”

Remus’ mouth twitched, and Sirius almost, _almost_ chuckled. Hadn’t that moment not already been all peace they were granted for a moment. The door opened again, and in came Dumbledore with a small boy behind him. The boy was carrying a rat on his shoulder. The rat missed a toe. And when it saw Remus and Sirius, the world turned upside down.

Chaos broke loose – the rat, _Pettigrew,_ jumped from the boy’s shoulder in an instant, and even though every person in the room urged forward to grab him, he managed to escape, being down the stairs faster than a tall adult or a clumsy, lanky boy could follow, and out of their view.

“Scabbers!” The boy screamed, while Remus and Sirius just roared: “Pettigrew!”

Sirius collapsed back into his chair, burying his face in his hands, when it was clear that they wouldn’t get him. They’d lost him, now that they’d been so close, they’d not managed to use a chance that might’ve been their only chance. And while everyone around him still panicked and rushed and screamed and generally made too much noise for his ears that hurt in the room that suddenly was so bright that it hurt his eyes even though they were covered, that very moment, Sirius Black gave up.


	5. Hope

Sirius sat in his chair, motionless, his head hanging on this shoulders like that of a lifeless corpse. His eyes were empty. He was only human after all, and ironically, while the absolute desperation had not managed to crush him, the bit of hope had. He barely registered that Remus was shaking him, shouting something, and he didn’t react with as much as a twitch of his mouth. Professor McGonagall watched him, arms crossed in front of her chest, sympathy in her eyes that Sirius would have been astounded by his past teacher had he looked up. It turned into a glare though when she turned to Dumbledore at the door, who was doing nothing except for talking to Percy and, from what reached her ears through Remus shouting, not even enlightening him.

Dumbledore maybe was the greatest wizard of present times, but he sure didn’t always make the right decisions or trust the right people. And she was ready to change that.

“Albus! We need to protect Harry!” The air was pressed out of her lungs by something that totally wasn’t fear, no. She didn’t know why, but she was sure that having been discovered, and certainly not dumb enough to think that he’d forever escape (he had passed her classes after all, although she still doubted to this day that we had done it on his own), Pettigrew would do what he thought would serve his master most. Kill the boy who lived.

So she flooed to the first destination that came into her mind, not even waiting for an answer by anyone else in the room, and apparated straight into the Dursley’s house.

And oh, had she been right.

Peter Pettigrew, however he had managed to get out of the Hogwarts’ grounds so quickly and probably even unnoticed to apparate from there, had transformed back and was cornering the Dursley family in their own living room. Harry wasn’t anywhere in the room. He had his wand out in his stubby fingers, that wand that he shouldn’t even be owning anymore (it probably wasn’t his, thinking about it – how would he have managed to keep it for years without being found out?), pointing at Dudley Dursley.

The boy was holding a massive chocolate bar in his hand, the chocolate smeared all around his mouth, and crying. The stick thin woman with the unnaturally long neck (how was she Lily Evans’ sister?) wouldn’t stop shrieking and pleading, while her husband only growled with a bright red face. They were awful people, but even they didn’t deserved to be killed by Peter Pettigrew, who had already murdered too many of the innocent.

The man, or rather the rat, flung around at the crack of her arriving, but she had already risen her wand. Minerva McGonagall was superior to this creature on the worst of her days, but in this exact moment she was beyond furious, and it didn’t take her more than a heartbeat to send Peter Pettigrew to the floor with a well-placed stunning charm.

“Stupefy! Petrificus totalus! Accio wand!” She screamed, and he fell down before the terror had fully taken over his eyes. The wand flew from his hand into hers immediately.

“Where is Harry Potter?” Every word was heavily punctuated, a threatening gleam in her eyes, but she didn’t have the time to be nice to child-abusers, whether they had been threatened by a mass murderer seconds ago or not, and only just escaped a quite sure death. Vernon Dursley merely crossed his arms in front of his chest, laughing.

“You are all the same, you freaks! As if I were to help him, or you! Coming here in the middle of the night, you filthy pack!” He scoffed at her, and she was tempted to stun him as well, but that wouldn’t get the family to cooperate, and she needed to bring the boy to safety before the charms that bound Pettigrew to the floor stopped working by themselves.

“ _Where is Harry Potter?_ ” She repeated, voice dangerously low, one that she never used on students, not even if they got a T in one of their homework essays for Transfiguration.

“I-in the cupboard,” the boy stuttered. He had to be about the same age as Harry, but obviously he was their son, their loved one and everything. “U-u-under the stairs.”

He didn’t have to say any more for Professor McGonagall to turn around abruptly and leave those two pathetic adults alone, with their poor child that would have to face a lot becoming an adult himself and actually do things by himself.

A _cupboard._ Under the _stairs._

She dashed into the hallway and immediately saw it.

“Harry,” she called. “Harry Potter, please open the door. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I need to bring you to a safe place.”

The door to the cupboard was opened hesitantly, and a small boy stuck his head out with wide eyes. The similarity to both Lily and James Potter was striking, but sentimental actions weren’t going to change his future for the better.

“Harry, do you know about your parents?” Curiously Harry didn’t hide when he saw someone he’d never seen in his life, just after he’d quite probably heard the fighting sounds and the shouting out of the living room. He just nodded slightly.

“They died in a car crash,” he answered, and then, thinking, added: “Who are you?”

See, Minerva McGonagall knew something about Muggles, and she knew what cars were. She couldn’t exactly pin down how one would die in a car crash, but what she was certain of was that Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash. This boy had never seen the letter that Dumbledore had left him. He knew nothing about his past. But this wasn’t the moment to discuss it.

“We found out that your aunt and her family are treating you badly,” she said instead. “So we’re going to take you away to a better place. You’ve got a godfather. He was your father’s best friend. He was in a dangerous position the last few years, too dangerous to raise a child, but that has changed now. Pack your belongings, quickly, and then we’ll leave as soon as possible. You’re not safe.”

And even though seven year old Harry had no clue what this was all about, everything would be better than living with the Dursleys. The unknown woman in the weird cloak (she reminded him of the only teacher that had ever treated him nicely so far, so she had to be nice as well, hadn’t she?) left him alone again, returning to the living room, and he stuffed the few clothes that he owned in his old hand-me-down school bag. It didn’t take him long to pack. As much as the Vernon and Petunia Dursley bought for their son, they never spared just a penny more than necessary for their nephew. Harry didn’t complain, though.

He waited patiently in his cupboard, listening attentively to the rummaging next door. There were no words spoken, or at least none that the door didn’t hold up; occasionally Dudley’s whimpers were to be heard, or a thump when apparently something fell. Still, what happened was none of Harry’s business. He just had to wait until the woman got back, and nothing more.

She did, then, carrying a golden cage with a rat in it. Why a rat, where had it come from? It was stiff, too, as if it were dead. Harry didn’t see the interest in carrying around a dead rat in a cage (there was no way that rat could ever escape from it), it wasn’t like it would still move, but he didn’t ask. Instead he stayed silent.

“I’m going to have to ask you to take my arm,” the woman announced. “You might feel uncomfortable after what we’re about to do, but don’t worry, it’ll pass. Just try staying upright.”

It sounded as if they were going on a rollercoaster, but how would that woman manage? And wherever they were going, why didn’t they just take a car? Harry took her arm, and suddenly the world spun around him. It was a lot worse than the scariest roller coaster he’d ever been in. He felt sick immediately, but he repressed the urge to vomit. Then again, he had more to worry about than just the spinning. This sensation was knew. He’d lived in a cupboard, but he’d never been this confined in a small space. When his feet touched solid ground again, he fell to his knees immediately.

“Are you okay?” A male, unknown voice asked as soon as he’d barely scrambled back to his feet again. He, too, was wearing those weird clothes; his cloak was bright green and his shoes orange. Looking around, Harry noticed that next to everyone in the big, spacious room was wearing weird clothes like that, and seemed to think it totally normal. “Merlin – _Harry Potter!_ ”

Before Harry could think about what that meant, and why this man knew him, Minerva McGonagall took him by his upper arm and dragged him along. It was cold in the massive hall, and he’d never seen a ceiling as high. There were green fires lit at both sides, too many of them to not be functional. They were approaching a big statue with people in a fountain, and they were, although made of stone, also not quite looking like the people Harry knew. Whispers were starting to spread; Harry’s name was all over the hall, in every mouth, every mind. The boy himself, though, barely in school, didn’t get any of it.

“Leave the boy alone! We need to see the Minister for Magic immediately, it is urgent!” Minerva McGonagall commanded. The people barely backed away. They did, though, when another man approached them, with a long white beard and long white hair, and wearing a baby blue cloak.

Seriously, Harry was starting to think that he was dreaming. The scene wasn’t only too good to be true, it also was too bizarre to be real. Magic didn’t exist.

“Albus,” the woman that was still gently dragging him along said dryly. “I see you have decided to come to our help.”

“I see that you don’t even need my help, Minerva. Is that him?” Apparently his name was Albus. Albus Dumbledore, judging by the whispers all around that were really not that quiet.

“Yes. I found them both at the family’s house. We need to get a trial, and the two men here. Are they by now conscious again that giving up is not a good idea? Just like it seems you realized that talking can’t solve everything?”

“I understand you get angry at me, Minerva, but could we sort out this affair later?” Dumbledore chuckled. “I can see the Minister approaching already. Word spreads quickly in a building like this… Millicent Bagnold.” The last few words were clearly a greeting. The newly arrived woman (purple cloak – what more would his unconscious come up with? Maybe they were right at school after all, maybe he was crazy) didn’t bother with a greeting. She was rude, Harry thought. Why couldn’t all the rude people at least keep out of his mind?

“Do you have any information regarding the Sirius Black case?” She asked harshly. “Because it is about time we catch him again.” Who was Sirius Black? And why were they searching him, and not the police, if he was a criminal?

“Actually we do,” Dumbledore said calmly. “In fact, we’ve managed to capture Peter Pettigrew.”

A collective gasp went through the entire hall. There were people almost everywhere, and they kept appearing out of nowhere. (Harry had seen one climb out of the fireplace. Another reason for why this definitely was a dream. He was going to enjoy it while it was still happening, though, if he already had to wake up soon and go back to the awful Dursleys again.)

“That is not possible.” The sharpness in the woman’s voice had even increased. Harry automatically hid behind Minerva McGonagall. Whenever someone spoke that angrily, there was a high chance that he was going to be punished. This dream was turning bad. “Peter Pettigrew was murdered in 1981, along with twelve innocent Muggles, by Sirius Black, who broke out of Azkaban, and you tell me that you’ve got Peter Pettigrew? We’ve got his finger, Dumbledore. We know that you like to have the last word, but here you are crossing a line.”

“Minerva?”

Minerva McGonagall demonstratively shoved the cage with the rat towards the Minister-woman, who just laughed with wide eyes.

“That’s a rat. A dead rat.”

“He’s an unregistered Animagus,” Dumbledore said, his voice clear and not giving in. “This rat is Peter Pettigrew. I don’t request you to take my word for it. The only thing I request is an immediate and fair trial for Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. As soon as you grant me a trial and the use of Veritaserum in the process of it if we don’t get Pettigrew to confess, we will bring you Sirius Black as well. As it happens I have the knowledge of his current location. You got him so far back into his right mind with the bite on your finger-“ the woman flinched, hiding her hand in her pocket “-that he recognized as Peter’s, that he managed to escape while the guard was looser than normally, the Dementors weakened by more Patroni than necessary, that you specially requested for your visit. I think you owe the magic population an explication.”

The entire hall was dead silent. Every single whispering noise from the hundreds of people around them had shut off while Dumbledore had been talking. There was absolutely no noise to be heard. Harry didn’t dare to move. What was going on? Why wasn’t he waking up? And if this was real (he barely dared to even think so), why had those people brought him here? Finally the woman hissed, breaking the deafening silence. Her eyes were squinted shut.

“Fine. You get your trial. We’ll prove you wrong, anyways, and then we’ll finally get Sirius Black the kiss that he deserves.”

Harry decided not to wonder about this anymore. The people gasped once again, though much more distinctly, at the mention of a kiss. Was he in some parallel universe like in those superhero comics that were everywhere at school and that he never got to read, where kisses were something bad? He’d love to live there; at least he wouldn’t be the only one anymore who never got one.

“I’m glad that you are cooperating, Minister,” Dumbledore said. He was smiling again. “Minerva, would you bring the accused to the Wizengamot? I’ll pass on the good news to Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin.”

And so Harry was pulled along (still gently, mind) yet again, this time into an elevator that curiously didn’t only move up or down, but in every possible direction. They went to the right, and down, and then to the left, and down again, and then again to the right, and finally a bit forward and down again until it came to a halt, and they, along with some other people that hadn’t stopped eyeing them (the rat as much as the boy, eyes flickering back and forth like Uncle Vernon’s when he was watching a tennis match on TV) got off into a dark corridor. It was only lit by a few torches on the walls of stone. When they were about to enter a room, someone held them up.

“No children during the trial,” that person said, almost absent-mindedly, and then stopped when they actually took a look at Harry. “Merlin, it’s _Harry Potter!_ ” Why always that reaction? Harry didn’t get it. Yes, he was Harry Potter, but he was nothing special!

“Yes, Mr. Fudge, it is Harry Potter. And if you would kindly excuse me now, I have to make sure that the murderer of a street of innocent people doesn’t escape the Ministry yet again.” She pulled him along into the room briskly (for every step of hers, he had to take two) and set the cage down on a chair right in the middle of it before leaving again just as quickly. He’d barely had enough time to see the seats on all sides of the circle in the middle of the room, yet again the high ceiling, and all the people in the same uniforms. Was this some kind of dubious cult?

“Listen, Harry. There will be-“ But sadly, that explanation wasn’t pursued any further. Dumbledore interrupted her, along with two men. Harry knew those men. He had seen them in the street, just that evening. He really was going mad. At only seven years of age, he didn’t understand a lot of this, but he’d been screamed at often enough, he’d been told often enough that he was a freak to conclude that it was the easiest explanation. They’d been right.

The men didn’t say a word – one had lots of wooden sticks directed at him, Harry noticed, but still held his head up, the other was walking freely, but nevertheless held his head down – and they both looked worn-out and shabby. Harry was half-hidden behind Minerva McGonagall, so they didn’t see him, but he did see them, and with his little heart, he felt that something important was going on with them.

Sirius Black held his head high, despite the glares that he could feel on him from all sides. He’d had worse. He was sure of his victory. Times would not be easy, even after his name had been cleared, but all that weight would fall off him. He’d never have to go back to Azkaban. He’d learned not to care about other people’s opinions. Remus left him at the entrance of the room where the trial would take place, going into the witness stand. Sirius himself was led to a chair right in the centre of the room and tied to it with chains. On the chair to his right there was a golden cage with Peter in it. He was starting to move again, recovering from the stunning charm and the Petrificus Totalus. Sirius smirked. It was going to be alright.

Although that was hard to believe a minute later, when the cold crept onto him and rising his head, he could see the Dementors hovering over him, thirsting for his soul, he kept his mantra in his head, saying it over again. When asked later, he wouldn’t remember one of the questions that he was asked or one of his answers, but he watched the Minister getting less and less confident and more and more uncomfortable, so he had to be doing well, hadn’t he? They brought him Veritaserum at one point, and he took it without complaining, and then they finally force-transformed Wormtail. At that point his mind became clearer (he knew that he’d won, the evidence was striking, even for a system as corrupt as this) and he heard the traitor make up excuses and plead for his life and freedom, having to hold himself back with every bit of willpower he had not to jump on him and finally, finally commit the crime that he had lost years of his life in Azkaban for.

“It was him, you had him! Don’t you think it is just ridiculous…”

“Mr. Pettigrew, the evidence against you can’t be denied. You’re not making it any better with your false accusations.” Oh, how she had to grind her teeth to get those words out that proved her wrong, that proved that six years ago, he’d never had a fair trial. But she said them. “Mr. Sirius Black is to be cleared of all accusations, and to present our sincere apologies, we will not further pursue the crime of him being in illegal Animagus.” At this point, Sirius almost scoffed. Of course she wouldn’t lock him in for that now, she knew that she’d never get away with it. “Everyone in favour shall raise their hand now.”

The hands came up hesitantly at first, but then there were more and more, until only a few resisting members of the Wizengamot with grim faces still denied what was obvious – the name of Sirius Black, second most feared criminal for the past years right after Voldemort himself, had been cleared.

“Mr. Peter Pettigrew is sentenced to Azkaban for his lifetime in the high security track because of treason in being a Death Eater and additionally a spy, for complicity in the murder of Lily Evans and James Potter on October 31st, 1981, for the murder of twelve muggles in a street and the public display of magic, and for being an illegal Animagus since the age of fifteen. Everyone in favour shall raise their hand now.”

The same hands rose, the same people had grim faces, or shocked ones, or relieved ones. Sirius would never understand why those people that made grim faces when an obvious criminal was sentenced to Azkaban, and who obviously supported the dark side, where never ever accused themselves, or just taken out of the Wizengamot. Just because of their money. Didn’t wizards stand above that? Shouldn’t they by now have left that time behind?

But none of that was important the moment that the Dementors came to get Wormtail and he vanished, accompanied only by his own piercing, pathetic screams. None of it was important when the chains holding him to the chair snapped open and he jumped up (not his brightest moment), stumbling and being caught by Remus, who held him tightly, grinning from one ear to the other. It didn’t matter when they left the room together, feeling drunk on love and freedom and sheer happiness, and saw Harry with Professor McGonagall, who made a face that could only be described as utterly confused.

“Harry,” they heard her say, “these are your godfather and another your parents’ best friends.”

The small boys’ eyes widened, but there was a hint of a smile on his face already now. They did have a hell lot of explaining to do, and a hell lot of catching up, but for the moment, when they were back in Dumbledore’s office in warmth and safety, sitting around the fireplace with hot chocolates and comfy, clean clothes for everyone, starting to talk, to warm up to each other, things were great. Life could go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you guys think?   
> Do you want me to continue this or leave it here and the rest of the story up to you?  
> Thanks for reading so far!


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